Summer Moon

by Jill Marie Landis

  “You’ll have to hold him down while I give him the laudanum. Try not to hurt him.” Then she looked into the boy’s eyes and said, “I wish there was some other way.”

  Fast Pony wished that his shame and humiliation would kill him. Maybe if he had gotten to one of the horses, his escape would have succeeded, but after he climbed out of the stall and hit the ground, he could not raise himself high enough to open a stall and steal one.

  He wanted to scream at the pain in his ankle. It was swollen twice its size and had turned a dark, ugly color. Instead, he fought to ignore the pain so that he could concentrate on the three white people staring at him.

  He studied them carefully—the younger woman with fire in her hair—the one who talked to him the most and called herself Kaaaate; Hairy Face, the old man with hate and distrust in his eyes; and the newcomer, the tall, berry-eyed woman who cried when she looked at him.

  What did the older woman see? Did she see more than he knew? Had she visions of his Comanche mother’s death? Or maybe all the hurt he held inside caused her pain.

  Was his fear and sadness a living thing that his eyes betrayed?

  Afraid to see his own fear reflected in her dark eyes, he wanted to look away, but he had to watch all of them now, these whites who would soon pay for holding him here like a dog. The big, hollow house for horses was made of wood and full of dry grass. If they put him back in there, he would find a way to burn it down.

  Burn it to ashes when they were all inside.

  Soon he would do his part to drive the whites from Comanche lands and make his father proud. He would become a true warrior among The People, the Nermernuh.

  The boy bit his lip to keep from crying out as the man with the rough white hairs growing out of his cheeks crouched low and began shuffling toward him. Hairy Face’s mouth was set straight as an arrow shaft. Cold determination iced his eyes.

  The younger woman looked about to cry. She started whispering to him.

  Fast Pony knew he was about to die.

  9

  With Scrappy’s help, Kate drugged the boy; then the wrangler carried him into the house where they placed him in the smallest of the spare rooms upstairs. Her heart broke for the child, so small and vulnerable, fighting to the last not to give in to them, struggling to be brave.

  Once they had him inside, they stripped off his filthy, tattered clothing and had Scrappy burn them, then in the huge tub in the bathing room, they washed him, then dressed him in one of Reed Senior’s cut-off nightshirts. After putting him in bed, they splinted his bruised and badly sprained ankle between two pieces of a cut-down broomstick and then Scrappy tied him into the narrow bed.

  Beneath the white linen sheets, with his long hair combed back off his sweet face and his cheeks shining, he looked like an angel. But they all knew that he wasn’t the angel he seemed, which is why Kate finally agreed to let Scrappy tie him to the bedposts.

  She was now as convinced as Sofia that the boy was Daniel. Why else would Reed have brought him to Lone Star?

  When they were through, she looked in on Reed, found him sleeping peacefully, his fever nearly gone, and then realizing that she was starved, Kate went downstairs.

  As the sun crested at noon, Kate and Sofia sat at a small table next to tall windows at the end of the kitchen, lingering over cups of strong black coffee, which was nothing like the pale tea and honey Kate was used to at the orphanage. The two women had shared a late breakfast that included samples from the covered dishes the neighbors had brought with them to the funeral.

  As she looked around the huge room, Kate recalled the pride Reed had expressed in his words to her about this room.

  I want to see my children and grandchildren living in this house, this grand tribute to all that is Lone Star. The kitchen is a wife’s dream, with long windows to let in plenty of light, and a view of the horse corral. There’s a new wood stove, too. Of course, you will have a housekeeper who cooks as well.

  The kitchen was indeed warm and cozy, much larger than the entire shack Kate had shared with her mother. Sofia moved effortlessly, busying herself with things Kate knew little about. The nuns turned out well-educated young ladies, hoping for them to make fine marriages or become teachers or nannies. Experience in a kitchen was not as highly stressed as reading, writing, and the arts.

  Within a few moments she felt at ease in the housekeeper’s domain. Sofia allowed her time to get her bearings as new mistress, and Kate was grateful to have the other woman’s help and expertise. If not for Sofia, she would never have known the boy upstairs was Reed’s long-lost son.

  She set her coffee cup down and covered her mouth when a yawn crept up on her. Then she folded her hands in her lap and watched Sofia pump water into one of two wash pans on the dry sink.

  “Do you think either of them is awake yet?” As anxious as she was filled with nervous excitement to return to Reed’s side, Kate stretched and collected cups, saucers, and spoons and carried them to the workbench.

  Sofia answered without turning around. “I will finish up here. You look in on them.”

  With a dish towel wadded in her hands, Sofia reached for the handle of a kettle boiling on the stove and swung it over to two deep dishpans. She added steaming water to each, replaced the kettle, and then slipped the scraped dishes into the hot water.

  Kate rubbed her brow, studied the woman’s erect shoulders and the delicate, pale nape of her neck exposed by her upswept, tightly coiled hair. There was an enviable, exotic beauty that lingered in Sofia despite her age. She carried herself more like a queen than like a housekeeper. Her tailored black silk gown was worth far more than everything Kate owned combined. The woman had been welcoming and considerate to a fault, not outwardly concerned about her standing despite the arrival of a new mistress.

  “Sofia, I hope you will forgive me for being frank, but there is no one else I can turn to.”

  Sofia’s hands grew still in the sudsy water.

  “What is it, señora?”

  “First, please, assure me that Reed could not have hurt that boy.”

  Without a second’s pause, Sofia turned and looked over her shoulder at Kate. In Sofia’s eyes, Kate saw the truth.

  “Never, señora. He would never do a child harm.”

  A weight lifted. Unable to sit any longer, Kate stood up and wrapped half a loaf of bread in a clean dish towel; then she set it aside. She took a deep breath and plunged in before she could talk herself out of asking any more.

  “I entered into this marriage on blind faith, Sofia. Reed said in one of his letters that you have known him since he was a young man, so I hope perhaps you can explain to me why he would keep the fact that he was a Ranger from me. Not only have I learned that his child has been alive all these years, but in his letters, he always referred to his father in past tense, as if he was dead and not alive. Why?”

  Sofia seemed to ponder the questions as she continued to wash the plates and serving dishes and set them on the waiter to drain. She was careful with each knife, keeping the hollow handles dry, slowly toweling each one, and laying them out in a row. Kate began to think that Sofia was not going to answer at all.

  When Sofia finally rinsed her hands and turned around, her expression was grave. “Sit down, señora, and we will talk.”

  Kate sat in the chair she had used before. Sofia sat opposite. The already overly warm spring breeze blew in through the open windows, carrying the scent of grass and wildflowers. To Kate, so used to chilly winds off the coast, it seemed like heaven.

  “Reed Junior’s first wife’s name was Becky Greene. His father never approved of her because he believed she was only marrying Reed for the wealth he would inherit when Lone Star became his. Reed Senior feared she was not in love with his son, which proved to be true.

  “Reed Junior married against his father’s wishes, without his consent. It was soon apparent that Becky did not really love him as much as she loved being a Benton. She fought the life that her husband had chose
n—life on the edge of the ranch where he worked the cattle with the rest of the men. They lived here in this house when they were first married, but then Reed Junior insisted they move out to an old dog-run cabin, one built when his father first bought the land. But here, in this house, is where Becky thought she belonged.

  “Young Reed naturally wanted her with him and insisted upon it. When Becky discovered she was having a child, she argued with him constantly. If he would not move back here, she wanted him to let her return alone. Finally, he agreed. Becky stayed here the last few weeks before Daniel’s birth.

  “A few months afterward, Reed Junior moved his family back out to the frontier. I think he realized that what his father had always believed was true. Becky did not really love him. Always, she flirted with other men.”

  Kate sat there feeling disconnected, as if listening to a tale about someone else, not the sincere, tenderhearted gentleman she had come to know through his letters. Reed had mentioned little about his first wife and son, save that he had married young, and had lost them both.

  I have had enough time to dwell on the past. My heart and my home are so empty now. I would hope that you would consider filling them with love and happiness.

  Kate propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Then Becky was killed and Daniel captured. How old was Daniel? How did it happen?”

  Sofia shifted on her chair, obviously quite ill at ease. Kate sensed the woman might feel disloyal talking about Reed and things that he should explain himself, but even if Kate had to pull every word out of her, she was determined to try. She had to know the truth.

  Sofia continued. “They had been living on the edge of the ranch for three years. On the night she died, Becky and the boy were alone. Reed had gone to the aid of some neighbors when their house was raided. When he got home, he found Becky outside, scalped, lying near the burned-out shell of the cabin. Daniel’s body was never found. All the horses were gone.”

  Kate tried to imagine Becky, alone in the darkness. The image of a young woman ravaged, lying dead beside the remains of her home was horrifying. The accounts of Indian attacks Kate had read in the Applesby Sentinel did not actually describe gruesome practices of torture and bondage, but intelligent people could read between the lines.

  “What she must have suffered at the last,” Kate whispered.

  “The Indians did not kill her, señora. It is believed Becky killed herself. She always swore that is what she would do before she let herself be taken. There is not a woman in Texas unaware of what happens to female captives. They are beaten, forced to submit. Some have returned to their families with their skin tattooed, their noses burnt off, their minds gone.

  “Others, those with half-Indian children, refuse to stay with their white families even when they are finally rescued. Some cannot face the shame they suffer when they return. Others, like the boy upstairs, turn Comanche and cannot remember another way of life. Becky knew what would happen to her. She had one of Reed’s guns. She was scalped, but died of a bullet through her temple. The Comanche would not have killed her outright.”

  Kate’s nails cut into her palms. She opened her fists, pressed her damp hands against her skirt. “But . . . she left her little boy to the mercy of Comanche raiders,” Kate whispered. Her thoughts spiraled back to her own childhood, to the night that she lay too sick to move, too sick to crawl after her mama when she left her on the steps of Saint Perpetua’s.

  She would never forget her mother’s parting words.

  “This is for the best, Katie. Someday when you realize that, I hope to God you’ll forgive me. I should have done this when you were born, so’s you wouldn’t remember. I’ve been selfish, Katie-girl, trying to keep you with me . . .”

  Kate shook herself, remembering all too well the silent tears she had shed. Grief and fear had swallowed her just as sure as the sickness in her lungs. Her mother had turned her back on her and walked out of her life forever.

  Hopefully Daniel was too young to remember anything of the terrifying night that his mother had taken her own life. Becky had abandoned him to the mercy of the Comanche just as surely as Meg Whittington had left Kate on the steps of the orphanage.

  “Are you all right, señora? I’m sorry if I upset you, but you asked. This is what I know.”

  Kate looked up at Sofia, startled out of her dark memory. “Yes . . . I’m fine.”

  She vowed then and there that as long as she had anything to say about it, Daniel would never, ever feel abandoned again. Then she collected herself. “What happened afterward? After Reed found out?”

  Sofia’s eyes spoke of deep sorrow. “There was bad blood between them already. Reed blamed his father for his mother’s early death. She hated Texas and longed to go back to Georgia. Junior thought that if his father had paid more attention to her and less to the ranch, Virginia would have lived longer.

  “The señor wanted so much for him, but Junior refused his help. Soon they fought over everything. If Reed Senior said it was day, Reed Junior insisted it was night. Time and again the señor urged him to bring Becky and Daniel back to Benton House. He wanted Junior to go into state politics, but Reed Junior loved ranching. He found joy in working alongside the men. He did not want to be a politician, nor was he ready to be a gentleman rancher.

  “After Becky’s burial, they had a terrible, terrible argument. I don’t know what it was about, but Reed Junior left that very day and joined the Rangers. He never came back until he walked in the door yesterday.”

  Like pieces of a puzzle that almost fit, the story Sofia had just related left Kate with more questions than answers.

  “If Reed and his father were estranged, how did you both know about our marriage? How did you know to expect me? Why would Reed have me meet him here in the first place? I could have joined him where the Rangers are, couldn’t I?”

  For the space of a heartbeat, consternation danced across Sofia’s features, so briefly that Kate began to doubt that she saw it. Then the housekeeper slowly pushed away from the table, stood, and carefully replaced the chair. Reaching down, she brushed at an uneven fold in the tablecloth; then she cleared her throat.

  “Reed was estranged from his father, but not from me, señora. I was the one who suggested that you come here first. Besides, a Ranger camp is no place for a new bride.”

  “And Reed agreed, even though he and his father were not speaking?”

  Sofia looked away. “Yes.”

  “So, it was you who told Reed’s father about me? About our proxy marriage?”

  For a long, tense moment, Sofia said nothing. When she looked at Kate again, her eyes held only dark memories.

  “The señor was as excited as a child, so looking forward to your arrival. He grew weaker by the day, but struggled to live long enough to meet you. He prayed that you could mend the trouble between them and bring his son home to Lone Star.”

  10

  The sun was well up when Reed rolled over. He groaned as nagging pain shot through his shoulder, then opened his eyes, surprised to find himself in one of the upstairs rooms in Benton House at Lone Star.

  Lone Star. His father’s tribute to himself. A ranch that was bigger than some eastern states, with its own little town smack in the middle of it, and this house—a grand mansion by Texas standards. Money had bought the old man everything he ever wanted.

  Everything but his only son’s love. His father’s money and power, his need to prove himself right, his stubborn belief that he knew what was best for everyone—those were the things that had driven Reed away.

  He loved the land and in one respect, could appreciate all his father had done here, but living on the ranch came with too high a price. His father’s devotion and onesidedness to the place had drained his mother, left her neglected and alone, pining for her old life in Georgia. It was a way of life that was gone after the war, but nothing could dissuade her. On her final breath she had begged to be buried on Georgia soil.

  Reed had
seen this land suck away his mother’s life. He loved Texas, but he wasn’t about to bend to his father’s will and forfeit his own soul.

  Bracing himself, he sat up and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. Flashing stars swam in front of his eyes until the pounding ache finally faded. He rubbed his eyes, then trailed his hand down his cheek and realized he was sporting more than a night’s growth of stubble.

  Not until he looked down at his bandaged right shoulder did it all come back to him, and he suddenly remembered why he was at Lone Star.

  Everything else had been a dream.

  Reaching for the half-empty glass of water on the bedside table, he watched his hand shake and the water slosh as he carried the glass to his lips and drained it.

  Now he recalled that he’d had one hell of a nightmare. It had started with him walking in and seeing his father laid out in a coffin in the parlor and ended with Becky making sweet love to him.

  A dream so vivid that even now he couldn’t rid himself of the lingering memory of it.

  Dream? Hell, must have been a nightmare if he had dreamed of making love to Becky. The longer he sat there thinking about it, the more he grew good and pissed at himself for having wanted her in that way again—even if it was only in a dream.

  Thinking of Becky naturally called Daniel to mind, and in a blink of an eye, memory hit him as hard as a swift kick in the gut from an ornery mule. He remembered everything that had come to pass and the reason he had come back: The raid on the Comanche summer camp. The ambush. Hand-to-hand combat. Women and children screaming, running.

  He had caught a bullet that hurt like hell, but luckily it had passed clean through his shoulder. Another had grazed his scalp.

  The worst pain had been inflicted when his friend, Capt. Jonah Taylor, had tracked him down at the medic’s tent and told him that they had discovered a white boy among the renegades.